Winsor, Kathleen (101 page)

Amber
was so absorbed that when her horse shied suddenly she grabbed at the reins and
all but sailed over its head. Recovering herself and looking about for whatever
had caused the animal's nervousness she saw Philip—red-faced and
guilty-eyed—astride his own horse near the three sentinel poplars that stood
alone in the midst of the meadow. Immediately he began to apologize for having
startled her.

"Oh,
your Ladyship! Forgive me! I—I didn't mean to frighten you. I'd just stopped
here a moment to enjoy the morning when I saw you coming—so I waited." The
explanation was made so earnestly that she knew it was a lie and that he had
not wanted his father to see them ride off together.

Amber
regained her balance and laughed good-naturedly. "Oh, Philip! It's you! I
was just thinking about you!" His eyes shone at that, but she stopped any
foolish comment he was about to make. "Come on! I'll race you to the
stream!"

He
reached it just ahead of her. When she swung down from the saddle he
immediately followed, making no argument this time. "How beautiful it is
in England in May," she exclaimed. "Can you imagine why
anyone
would
want to go to America?"

"Why,
no," he agreed, bewildered. "I can't."

"I
think I'll sit down. Will you spread your cloak for me, Philip, so I won't
spoil my gown?" She glanced around to find the most pleasant spot.
"Over there against that tree, please."

With
a display of great gallantry he swirled off his long riding-cloak and laid it
on the damp grass. She dropped down easily with her back against the dainty
birch, her legs stretched out straight and crossed at the ankles. She flung her
hat aside.

"Well,
Philip? How long are you going to stand there? Sit down—" She indicated a
place beside her.

He
hesitated. "Why—uh—" Then, with sudden resolve, he
said briskly,
"Thank you, your Ladyship," and sat down facing her with his arms
resting on his drawn-up knees.

But
instead of looking at her he kept intent watch on a bee which was going
hurriedly from flower to flower, caressing the surface of each, lingering
occasionally to sip the last bit of honey. Amber began idly picking the little
white daisies that grew profusely in the grass and tossing them one after
another into her lap until she had a mound of them.

"You
know," said Philip finally, and now he looked directly at her, "it
doesn't seem as though you're my step-mother. I can't make myself believe it—no
matter how I try. I wonder why?" He seemed genuinely puzzled and
distressed; almost comically so, Amber thought.

"Perhaps,"
she suggested lazily, "you don't want to."

She
had begun to make the flowers into a wreath for her hair, piercing the tiny
stems with one sharp fingernail, threading them dexterously together.

He
thought that over in silence. Then: "How did you ever happen to marry
Father?" he blurted suddenly.

Amber
kept her eyes down, apparently intent on her work. She gave a little shrug.
"He wanted my money. I wanted his title." When she looked up she saw
a worried frown on his face. "What's the trouble, Philip? Aren't all
marriages a bargain—I have this, you have that, so we get married. That's why
you married Jenny, isn't it?"

"Oh,
yes, of course. But Father's a mighty fine man—you know that." He seemed
to be trying to convince himself more than her, and he looked at her tensely.

"Oh,
mighty fine," agreed Amber sarcastically.

"He's
mighty fond of you, too."

She
gave a burst of impolite laughter at that. "What the devil makes you think
so?"

"He
told me."

"Did
he also tell you to keep away from me?"

"No.
But I should—I know I should. I should never have come today." His last
words came out swiftly and he turned his head away. Suddenly he started to get
to his feet. Amber reached out and caught at his wrist, drawing him gently
toward her.

"Why
should
you keep away from me, Philip?" she murmured.

He
stared down at her, half kneeling, his breath coming hard. "Because I—
Because I should! I'd better go back now before I—"

"Before
you what?" The sun through the leaves made a spatter of light and dark on
her face and throat. Her lips were moist and parted and her teeth shone white
between them; her speckled amber eyes held his insistently. "Philip, what
are you afraid of? You want to kiss me—why don't you?"

Philip
Mortimer's conscience troubled him. At first he tried to avoid his step-mother.
The day after she had seduced him he went to visit a neighbour and remained
away for almost a week. When he returned he was so busy visiting tenants that
he seldom appeared even for meals, and on those occasions when he could not
avoid meeting her his manner was exaggeratedly stiff and formal. Amber was
angry, for she thought that his ridiculous behaviour would give them both away.
Furthermore, he was the one source of amusement she had found in the country,
and she had no intention of losing him.

One
day from the windows of her bedchamber she saw him walking alone across the
terrace from the gardens. Radclyffe was closeted in his laboratory and had been
for some time; so Amber picked up her skirts and rushed out of the room, down
the stairs, and onto the brick terrace. There he was below. But as she started
after him he glanced hastily around and then dodged into a tall maze of clipped
hedges—it had been planned seventy years ago when such labyrinths were the
fashion and now had grown so tall that it was almost possible to get lost
there. She reached it, looked about but could not see him, and then ran in,
turning swiftly into one lane after another, coming up against a blank wall and
retracing her steps to start down another path.

"Philip!"
she cried angrily. "Philip, where are you!"

But
he made no answer. And then all at once she turned into a lane and found him
there, caught, for it was closed at the end. He glanced uneasily about him, saw
that there was no escape, and faced her with a look of guilty nervousness.
Amber burst into laughter and threw over her head the black-lace shawl she had
been carrying.

"Oh,
Philip! You silly boy! What d'you mean, running away from me like that? Lord,
you'd think I was a monster!"

"I
wasn't," he protested, "I wasn't running away. I didn't know you were
there."

She
made a face at him. "That wheedle won't pass. You've been running away
from me for two weeks now. Ever since—" But he looked at her with such
protesting horror that she stopped, widening her eyes and raising her brows.
"Well—" she breathed softly then. "What's the matter? Didn't you
enjoy yourself? You seemed to—at the time."

Philip
was in agony. "Oh, please, your Ladyship! Don't—I can't stand it! I'm
going out of my head. If you talk that way I'll—I don't know what I'll
do!"

Amber
put her hands on her hips and one foot began to tap impatiently. "Good
Lord, Philip! What's the matter with you? You act as if you've committed some
crime!"

His
eyes raised again. "I have."

"What,
for heaven's sake!"

"You
know what."

"I
protest—I don't. Adultery's no crime—it's an amusement." She was thinking
that he was a fine example of the folly of allowing a young man to live so long
in the country, shut away from polite manners.

"Adultery
is a crime. It's a crime against two innocent people—your husband, and my wife.
But I've committed a worse crime than that. I've made love to my father's
wife—I've committed incest." The last word was a whisper and his eyes
stared at her, full of self-loathing.

"Nonsense,
Philip! We're not related! That was a law made up by old men for the protection
of other old men silly enough to marry young women! You're making yourself miserable
for nothing."

"Oh,
I'm not, I swear I'm not! I've made love to other women before—plenty of them.
But I've never done anything like this! This is bad—and wrong. You don't
understand. I love my father a great deal—he's a very fine man—I admire him. And
now what have I done—"

He
looked so thoroughly wretched that Amber had a fleeting sense of pity for him,
but when she would have reached over to press his hand he stepped back as if
she were something poisonous. She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, Philip—it'll
never happen again. Forget about it—just forget it ever happened."

"I
will! I've got to!"

But
she knew that he was not forgetting at all, and that as the days went by he
found it more and more impossible to forget. She did nothing to help him.
Whenever they met she was invariably looking her most alluring and she flirted
with him in a negative way which seemed just as effective as anything more
flagrant could possibly have been. By the end of a fortnight he met her again
when she had gone out to ride, and after that he was completely helpless. His
feeling of guilt and of self-hatred persisted, but the desire for pleasure was
stronger.

They
found many places to meet.

Like
all great old Catholic homes Lime Park was full of hiding places which had once
been used for the concealing of priests. There were window-seats which might be
lifted to disclose a small room below the level of the floor. There were panels
in the walls which slid back to show a narrow staircase leading up to a tiny
room. Philip knew them all. For Amber at least their various rendezvous
afforded a dangerous excitement from which she derived far more enjoyment than
she did from Philip's inept love-making.

She
did not, however, find it so amusing that she was less eager to return to
London. She asked Radclyffe over and over again when they were going back, but
invariably he said that he had no plans for returning at all. He would as soon
stay in the country, he said, until he died.

"But
I'm bored out here, I tell you!" she shouted at him one day.

"I
don't doubt you are, madame," he said. "In fact it's always been a
puzzle to me how women avoid boredom wherever they are. They have so few
resources."

"We
have resources enough," said Amber, giving him a slanted look, full of
venom and contempt. She had started the conversation with good resolutions, but
they could not last long under his cold supercilious stare, his sneering
sarcasm. "But it's dull out here. I couldn't wish the devil himself a
worse fate than to be boxed up in the country!"

"You
should have considered that, then, when you were attempting to prostitute
yourself to his Majesty."

She
gave a harsh vindictive little laugh. "Attempting to prostitute myself! My
God, but you
are
droll! I laid with the King long ago—while I was still
at the theatre! Now, my lord, what do you make of
that!"

Radclyffe
smiled, cynical amusement on his thin pressed lips. He was standing beside one
of the great windows that overlooked the terrace, leaning against the
gold-embroidered hangings, and his whole decadent figure was like that of a
delicate porcelain. She longed to smash her fist against the fragile bones of
his cheek and nose and skull, and feel them crumble beneath her knuckles.

"Your
own lack of subtlety, madame," he said quietly, "makes you suspect a
similar flaw in everyone else."

"So
you knew it already, did you?"

"Your
reputation is not spotless. It was, in fact, very much befouled."

"And
I suppose you think it's in a better condition now!"

"At
least it will not be in a worse one. I have no interest at all in you or in
your reputation, madame. But I have a great deal of interest in the repute
which my wife bears. I cannot undo the faults you committed before I married
you—but I can at least prevent you from committing new ones now."

For
an instant fury brought her close to a disastrous error. It was on the end of
her tongue to tell him about herself and Philip, to prove to him that he could
not govern her life no matter how he tried. But just in time she controlled
herself— and said instead, with an unpleasant sneer: "Oh, can you?"

Radclyffe's
eyes narrowed, and as he spoke to her he measured each word like precious
poison. "Someday, madame, you'll try me too far. My patience is long, but
not endless."

"And
then, my lord, what will you do?"

"Go
to your rooms!" he said suddenly. "Go to your rooms, madame—or I
shall have you carried there by force!"

Amber
felt that she would burst with rage and raised her clenched fist to strike him.
But he stood so imperturbably, looked at her so coldly, that though she
hesitated for several seconds she at last muttered a curse, turned, and ran out
of the library.

Her
hatred of Radclyffe was so intense that it ate into her brain. He obsessed her
day and night until it became a torment which seemed unendurable—and she began
to scheme how she might be rid of him. She wanted him dead.

On
just one occasion, and that by accident, did Amber come close to making an
important discovery about the man she had married. She had never tried to
understand him or to learn what had made him the kind of person he was, for
they not only disliked each other but found each other mutually uninteresting.